


Chapter Four: Pretend

by i_gaze_at_scully



Series: To Save a Child [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully





	Chapter Four: Pretend

She’s stable. The doctors can scratch their heads about it till they bleed for all Mulder cares; she’s stable. The treatment is working. When he rounds the corner in the hospital and sees Scully, he is immediately struck by how much lighter she looks. He takes a deep breath before speaking, and she breathes it out.  _ It’s working.  _

 

The urge to hug her nearly overcomes him; instead, he swallows the lump in his throat and gives her a meager smile. They are far, far from out of the woods, but the look on her face gives him the courage to keep going. 

 

“Ms. Scully?” Chambliss doesn’t look like Mulder imagined she would. She has the hair he once pictured Mrs. Scully having, red like Scully’s and styled like her mother’s. Chambliss commands attention, seems fully aware of the gravity of her role. “Can we talk?”

 

Scully looks to him, a silent question, and he nods. The three of them walk to an empty room near Emily’s. Chambliss doesn’t question his presence, but addresses Scully exclusively. 

 

“First of all, I want to express my relief and joy at this unexpected turn of events. That Emily is stable says a lot about your commitment to her safety and wellbeing, as well as your willingness to go above and beyond for her. Something a parent would do.” Mulder watches Scully’s tongue dart out to wet her lips as her hands flit again to her bare collarbone. Chambliss takes her silence as a cue to continue.

 

“Now that she’s stable, the question of Emily’s custody is first and foremost. Independent of your adoption petition, the court has decided it unacceptable for Emily to go back to the children’s center, for fear of potentially infecting other children.” Mulder almost opens his mouth to dispute this, tell Chambliss she’s not contagious, but Scully, sensing this, shoots him a precluding look.

 

“Ms. Scully I have to admit,” Chambliss says, her voice lower and softer. “I’m on your side here. Despite my initial reservations, I think that in light of Emily’s circumstances, you are the best option for her in the long term.” At this, Scully takes in a shaky breath. Subtle, a slip Chambliss wasn’t likely to notice, but Mulder does. He reaches over to rest his hand on her back, rubbing small circles. 

 

“The court’s final decision is beyond me, but they have agreed to an idea I proposed. A trial run of sorts.” 

 

“What do you mean by trial run?” Scully asks, controlling the emotion in her voice. 

 

“Besides her illness, Emily was not allowed back in the children’s center due to the suspicious circumstances of her parents’ deaths. Now I don’t know anything about that, but I know that in circumstances like this, federal protection is warranted. The court has agreed to such an arrangement.” Mulder’s heart races, but Scully’s face betrays nothing. 

 

“I lobbied for you and your partner to be the agents assigned,” Chambliss finishes with a small smile. “I’ve been told that once the paperwork goes through, with the courts and with the Bureau, the three of you will be moved to a safe house.” 

 

Scully turned to him for the first time since the meeting started, and, looking at him but addressing Chambliss, asked, “Does this mean… my petition…?”

 

“No, you haven’t been approved yet. We’d need to conduct a home visit first, back in Washington. We have to make sure Emily has suitable accommodations, appropriate education, and sufficient resources, in addition to love and care. But,” she stresses, “you’re on your way. And I am rooting for you.” 

 

Reaching over to cover Scully’s hands with own for a moment, Chambliss expresses her sympathy, then slips out to let Mulder and Scully process.

 

“It’ll have to be patrolled, around the clock,” Scully insists. “We’ll need reliefs, people we can trust, so we can stay sharp.”

 

“And get to the bottom of who’s behind this,” Mulder adds. Scully nods, and Mulder can see wheels turning furiously in her mind.

 

“I’ll call Skinner, take care of the details,” Mulder offers. Mirroring Chambliss’ actions moments before, he takes Scully’s hands in his. “You go be with your daughter.” Scully chokes out a laugh, a sob, happy tears welling in her eyes. He pats her knee, pulling his cell phone out as he leaves the room. 

 

–––

 

In one fell swoop, Scully moves her bags into the safe house, and they remain unpacked on her bed. She spends their first day setting up Emily’s room. She is able to bring some of her things over from her old home, from the children’s center. Mulder hears her grunt with effort, moving furniture around the room, rearranging it countless times. His offer to help was met with  _ I’m fine,  _ and as he left, a latent  _ thank you, though. _  In his own room, Mulder unpacks his few belongings. He’ll have to buy a few things, the essentials for an indefinite stay that didn’t make it into his go bag. 

 

The house feels foreign–too large, almost cavernous. Too many places to hide. He fiddles with the heavy curtains and shades, drawn against the sun and, importantly, prying eyes. He is acutely aware of the duality of the curtains–protective, but also a place to hide, a means to smother or choke. Suddenly everything appears to be a weapon. Kitchen knives move from a block on the counter to a drawer with a safety lock. He tosses the fire pokers entirely. 

 

His bedroom is down the hall from Emily’s and Scully’s, what he imagines would be the guest room were this a normal home. Abnormalcy coats the walls of this house though, and Mulder can’t shake the feeling.

 

“Does she still need a gate at three?” Scully asks as Mulder enters Emily’s room. She’s slumped against the wall on the floor, knees propped and elbows resting on them. Hands straight out in front of her, she gestures without looking at him. “I don’t remember how old Matthew was when Bill and Tara stopped using it.” 

 

In the corner of the room, a small armchair sits besides a lamp. A vision of Emily sitting in his lap, warm in her pajamas after a bath, curled into him as he reads a bedtime story, dances briefly through his mind. He sits on the floor at the foot of the chair, leaned against the cushion. Scully looks past her hands, towards him, when her stream continues.

 

“What does she eat, Mulder? What are the daily recommended calories for a three year old? Does she use utensils yet?” Her hand motions become more pronounced, her voice louder. “What will she do during the day, especially when we’re gone? What will _ we _ do? Mulder,” she says, looking him dead in the eye, dropping her voice down to a whisper. “What are we going to do?”

 

He’d decided long ago that he would make a terrible father. He didn’t have the best example to follow, and he decided he didn’t have what it takes. He’d written off the idea before he’d even moved in with Diana. Broke her heart with the firm stance, steeled his resolve when she left. He’s never thought about these things before, about silverware and fire pokers, strollers and gates, bath time and read alouds. He doesn’t even know that that’s what Scully wants from him, or if he can offer it. Scully stares at him intently, imploringly, a tear threatening to fall from each red eye. 

 

He shrugs. “I don’t know, Scully.” His tone isn’t unkind, but flat in its honesty. She stands abruptly, brushing the moving dust off her jeans, and leaves the door open on her way out. His head sinks back onto the chair and he lets out a sharp breath. Emily moves in tomorrow evening.

 

\---

 

Mulder isn’t there when Scully tells Emily she won’t be going home. He shoves his hands in his pockets and paces the hall instead. A few minutes later, Emily emerges, a pair of denim overalls falling off her shoulder, her small hand enclosed in Scully’s.

 

Emily views the safe house with a healthy bout of skepticism, just like Mulder had. She pads around the living room, stopping at pieces of furniture with a quizzical look. She doesn’t say a word.

 

“What did you tell her?” Mulder whispers when Emily’s attention is captured by toy blocks on the living room floor. Scully stands beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“I told her we would be going somewhere safe, but that her mom and dad wouldn’t be there. She didn’t inquire any further, so…” She trails off, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. They talk in whispers, watching Emily as she explores her new environment. She abandons the pyramid she’d been building, toddling past Mulder and Scully towards the kitchen. A pink toy stroller goes round and around the dining room table with her, and Mulder looks over at Scully when he realizes there’s no baby doll in it. 

 

He couldn’t be more of a fish out of water in this California dream house with Scully and this child. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think. He leans on the kitchen island and cracks some sunflower seeds in his mouth, the sound drawing curious attention from Emily. He smiles at her when she stares at him. He drowns in those big blue eyes. She doesn’t smile back.

 

\---

 

Scully gets Emily ready for bed while Mulder goes over what they have on Prangen. What little they have. He wants to go back to the nursing home, see what they can glean from the staff or the patients themselves. 

 

He pauses when Scully’s voice floats down the hall, lulling and soft, a bedtime story in progress. He should be in there with them, show Emily… show her what? Who is he to her? 

 

Scully looks exhausted when she gently shuts Emily’s door and stands at the top of the stairs, looking down to him. She gives him a wan smile.

 

“Are you going to bed?” She asks, stifling a yawn.

 

“Not yet,” he says. “I’m going to try to fit some pieces together.” She nods with drooping lids, pats the banister.

 

“Goodnight then,” she says.

 

“Night, Scully. Sleep well.”

 

\---

It’s the quiet that kills him. No crickets, no cars, no planes or trains or people. Mulder keeps the TV on low, sprawled out on the couch with papers littering the coffee table.

 

There’s a small click from upstairs, the sound of muted footsteps passing the stairs that cuts the unnerving quiet in a more unnerving way. Mulder bolts upright, spins to seek the source of the noise.  _ Weapon, _ his mind chimes, and he throws his arm out to the side table. Briefly, he thinks that they need to be careful about their weapons with Emily around.  _ Intruder! _ His mind reminds him, and he creeps up the stairs, his gun and arm hair raised. A flash of red and white dance in his periphery, and he lowers his gun. Scully turns around as he reaches the top of the stairs. 

 

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

 

“I thought – nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Scully tucks her hands under her arms, resembling a marshmallow in her oversized, fluffy robe. “Why are you up?”

 

“I just… I had to...” Her voice is strained, and she clears her throat. “It was too quiet, I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to check on her.”

 

“She’s okay,” he asserts, recognizing his own paranoia reflected in Scully’s and willing his heart rate to slow. “We should both get some sleep.” Scully’s hands remain firmly tucked, her eyes on Emily’s door.

 

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. “I mean it. She’s okay. We’ve got her.” 

 

Scully blinks back tears, refusing to meet his eye. “Goodnight, Mulder.” When she peels away from him, his hand drops heavily to his side. There’s a little girl sleeping, his partner’s  _ daughter _ , Scully’s daughter, sleeping right there behind that door. Dreaming sweetly, he hopes, or not at all. Dozing in this strange place with these strange people. Mulder feels like a stranger here, Scully as strange to him as to Emily is. 

 

Returning to the couch for the night, he shifts uncomfortably when it does not give to his weight.


End file.
